


And Not Tell

by cnjolras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cnjolras/pseuds/cnjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The course of life is altered by the smallest of things. Some call it fate, some call it luck – Enjolras calls it reality. It just so happens that his is changed in the spark of a flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vital signs

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Kiss And Not Tell by La Roux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for language, smoking, and alcohol.
> 
> Chapter title from Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day.

Enjolras breathes in shakily, frowning at the lighter he's fiddling with in his hands. He holds it up to the cigarette hanging from his lips and flicks the switch. There's a small flicker for part of a second, and then nothing.

"Come _on_ ," he huffs, shaking the lighter vigorously. This time there's not even a spark.

It's a cool September evening and Enjolras is in the shadows of an alley, a minute's walk from the Musain, where he's due to meet his friends in five minutes.

Taking a deep breath around the cigarette, he tries the lighter once more. Nothing.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth and tears form in his eyes, as Enjolras raises his arm to throw the lighter at the wall. Before he can do this, a hand flourishes a lighter from beside him, lighting the cigarette.

Enjolras only manages a glance at Grantaire before he's distracted by the smoke filling his mouth. He takes a long drag, breathing it out as he leans his head against the wall with a sigh. The chemicals course through his veins, his lungs aflame. His head clears in those few seconds; he feels alive.

It takes one more drag for realisation to hit Enjolras. An unshaven Grantaire is watching him with a cigarette of his own, his expression a mix of confusion, and what looks like concern. Enjolras' hands begin to sweat as Grantaire starts speaking.

"Are you, y'know, alright?" he ventures, his thick eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah it's just, this _thing_ wouldn't work," Enjolras gestures with his lighter before throwing it into a nearby trash can.

Grantaire nods. "Yeah, I could tell. I meant are _you_ okay? You seemed pretty riled up and– I didn't know you smoke?"

Enjolras turns to him and holds up a hand, the other still desperately clutching his cigarette. "Don't tell anyone, nobody knows," he blurts out, " _Please_."

"Woah, calm down, it's okay," Grantaire holds up his hands in response, "I won't tell anyone, promise."

"Not even Combeferre," Enjolras continues.

"Well, he's part of 'anyone', isn't he?" he says slyly. "I promise."

Enjolras searches his face for sincerity for a few moments, coming to rest on his shadowed eyes. They're bloodshot and dilated in the darkness, but Enjolras has seen him more worse for wear. It's doubtful whether Grantaire can say the same for him. 

He nods. "Thank you," he whispers. The shaking subsides.

Grantaire gives him a knowing lopsided smile. "Now c'mon, we don't wanna be late, do we?"

A wary smile is his reply, and then, "Are you twenty questions today? 'Isn't he?', 'do we?'..." Enjolras trails off, stubbing his cigarette on the wall as they start walking.

His smile grows. "Was that a question?"

"Was that?" he smirks.

"Ah, piss off."

**–––**

"I know I'm irresistible and I'm buying our round but staring at me while I'm at the bar will get you nowhere," Courfeyrac starts, setting three drinks down on the table.

Combeferre frowns at him from his behind his glasses. "I wasn't staring at you?"

He shakes his head while taking a sip of his drink. "No, not you, I was talking to Enjolras."

It's now Enjolras' turn to frown. "I wasn't staring at you either," he says, "And sorry to break your heart but I'm not interested in you like that, Courf."

"Good, because I wouldn't be able to take care of your needs. Besides, I'm taken," Courfeyrac says, a hint of tragedy in his voice.

"What 'needs'?" Enjolras scoffs, "And you're sexually taken, not romantically."

Courf smirks. "Ah I don't know, I'm just making shit up. And people aren't exactly up for dating a person who's banging someone else, so I guess I am taken," he shrugs.

"Wow, that sounds awful," Enjolras remarks sarcastically, "You may as well marry Jehan now and retire to sail around the world together."

Combeferre snorts mid-drink, bringing the three of them to laugh loudly. Once the laughter dies down, a hand slides across Enjolras' shoulders.

"I heard that, _Alexandre_ , you know I'm not about the romantic life," Jehan warns from behind him. They noisily drag a chair next to Courfeyrac and flop down into it. "So, Grantaire, huh?"

"You're gonna have to elaborate, honey," Courf says.

Jehan rolls their eyes. "Enjolras was staring at him. Has he pissed you off or something?"

Enjolras raises his eyebrows and ignores Combeferre and Courfeyrac's stares. "No, how would he have pissed me off?"

"You two argue all the t-"

"We debate, not argue," he interrupts.

"Well you were staring pretty intensely," Jehan replies ludicrously.

"I didn't mean to, I was just thinking."

"About Grantaire?"

Enjolras rubs his hand over his face. "No, not about Grantaire. Just thinking."

It's a lie. When conversation has ebbed, Grantaire has been Enjolras' main train of thought all night. He knows Enjolras' secret – well, one of his secrets, he thinks – and other than basic information, Enjolras barely knows a thing about Grantaire. Besides their frequent "debates", they hardly speak to each other. It's not that he dislikes Grantaire, on one level Enjolras actually enjoys their debates, it's just that they never seem to be in the same conversation. There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him that that's about to change. Whether that's good or bad is anyone's guess.

Combeferre takes one look at Enjolras' face and knows to change the conversation. 

"So what about flying around the world? That's more platonic than romantic," he looks at Jehan, only to have a packet of salt thrown at him.

The end of the night rolls around too soon for Enjolras. Hushed laughter echoes through the streets as they all leave the warmth of the Musain to walk home. It's mainly Bahorel's laughter that echoes – Feuilly is trying to keep him quiet but has ended up making him laugh even more. Everyone has split into their own conversations, Enjolras happy to walk slowly at the back and watch them all laugh and stumble along drunkenly.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and as he checks it, he notices the sound has summoned Grantaire.

His eyes rake over the group before he speaks, "We're all here, so who could possibly be messaging you at half one in the morning?"

Enjolras raises his eyebrows. "Was that another question?"

Grantaire shoots him an exasperated look that he answers with a smirk.

"It's just this live news app, nothing important."

"Jesus, take a break from your job, _relax_."

He gestures to their friends, "I _am_ relaxing _and_ I'm keeping up to date. No harm done."

A nod comes in reply. "Will there be harm done if I ask about the smoking?"

Enjolras looks across to him, keeping his voice level, "Depends what you ask."

"Why don't you tell anyone?" He shakes his head to stop Enjolras' interruption, "No, I know, I'm not gonna tell anyone and I don't want to. I was just wondering, why do you keep it secret?"

A breeze blows some hair across his forehead and he drags his hand through it. "I don't see the point." He shrugs. "I mean, I only do it occasionally, and if I brought it up they'd ask questions that I don't wanna answer."

Grantaire bows his head. "Fair enough, man. If you ever wanna talk you know I'm here, right? They're all here too and I'm probably last on your list but-"

"No, I- you're not last. Thank you. It means a lot. Same goes for you."

Enjolras bumps against his shoulder and Grantaire nods again. "Cheers."

**–––**

"So, what? You'd expect everyone to be like you in situations like that? Because you're so _perfect_ and moral?"

"I didn't say I'd expect everyone to be like me, I said I _think_ the _majority_ of people would feel the same as me."

"You really think the majority of people are as into martyrdom as you?"

"It's not martyrdom, it's a question of ethics and privacy, we've said absolutely nothing about dying."

"It's a form of self-sacrifice."

An October downpour is in full swing, the rain hard and biting, and Enjolras' hand shakes as he punches in the code for his apartment building.

"Y'know what? Fuck- No, sacrificing some privacy in order to help others is not martyrdom, and no, I wouldn't expect it, because no, I'm not perfect. But I am cold, and I'm wet, and I'm tired. You can come inside if you want, on the condition that we _shut the fuck up_ about this."

Grantaire's expression goes blank at the harshly-delivered invite. "You mean like, sleep over?"

"Yeah. No offence, but you look about as tired as I feel, I doubt walking another fifteen minutes in this seems very appealing," he gestures to the rain hitting the pavement, which only seems to get stronger.

"I- Sure. Thanks." His expression remains blank, verging on dazed.

Enjolras nods. "C'mon. No more shouting, I have neighbours."

Grantaire takes the stairs two at a time, almost reaching Enjolras' apartment before him. They both groan when the warmth of the apartment hits them, then quietly laugh at each other, their earlier debate forgotten.

Few things in Enjolras' apartment have changed since Grantaire last visited. The walls are still white, the wooden floors still adorned with a variety of brown, cream, or red carpets. Or maybe there's one extra carpet; Enjolras doesn't keep track.

He locks the door and throws his keys onto the counter, turning to find Grantaire watching him intently.

"Am I sleeping in with you, or?" he ventures, brow furrowed.

"If you want to, everyone else does," Enjolras says, yawning as he walks into his bedroom. Grantaire follows him silently, then freezes in the doorway.

"By 'everyone' do you literally mean everyone at once?"

"I know my bed is big but it's not _that_ big," he mumbles with a smile. He anticipates a "that's what he said" joke, but it remains unsaid as he begins to undress, hanging his hoodie on the radiator. "Although, Ferre and Courf slept in with me once before."

He switches t-shirts then gestures for Grantaire's hoodie, which he hands over.

"Did they both have room for a plus one?"

Enjolras throws a dry t-shirt at him. "You've seen how tall Ferre is, right? He managed to kick us both in his sleep, so I'm gonna have to say no. Give me your jeans." He rolls his eyes at the new height of Grantaire's eyebrows. "To _dry_ ," he continues, shaking his own pair to demonstrate.

It proves to be a difficult task, and Enjolras can't help but watch and laugh as he strips them off. Maybe not the best idea to gawk so openly, he thinks when Grantaire glares at him.

He's awkwardly standing in the same spot when Enjolras has finished fussing with their clothes.

"You can get in, it doesn't bite."

"Left or right?"

"Left is mine," he smirks. "But I normally tend to sleep in the middle, so I may fight you for it in my sleep."

Grantaire smiles as he climbs in. "Bring it on."

Enjolras laughs lightly, but quickly realises that it goes unnoticed by Grantaire, who's sinking into the mattress, his face the picture of comfort. A small groan escapes his mouth.

Taking that as the end of their conversation, Enjolras climbs in to join him. Once he's finished fidgeting, he mumbles a goodnight, and Grantaire's reply is just as incoherent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing wouldn't exist without Merry aka captainskellington (I have no clue how to link on here using my ipad) whom I love a lot and need to thank for batting this idea back and forth with me for months on end now. If you happen to follow either of us on twitter then this is our Pedaloverse which we may have mentioned a while ago, and you'll find out why we call it that soon. I hope.
> 
> The "debate" they're having toward the end is from a debate I had in psychology a few months ago regarding the cost/benefit analysis of a study into gay men (I'll find the link at some point but I can't remember the study name right now), and I happened to say some very Enjolras things.
> 
> Will I scare people off if I say this is sort of a slow burner?


	2. Reasons wretched and divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters warnings for language (do I need to warn for that?), food mention, and needles (briefly).
> 
> Chapter title from Jackie & Wilson by Hozier.

"Enjolras? Enjolras, you're drooling a little."

Enjolras frowns and drags his hand across his mouth, groaning.

"Thanks," he mumbles, before rubbing his eyes and yawning.

When he opens his eyes he sees Grantaire surveying his face, and then his arm which is resting on his pillow above his head. His expression is unreadable.

He frowns again. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Is there something on me?"

"No it's just," Grantaire half smiles, "You don't look that pale next to these white sheets, but then my arm next to yours is still dark."

"You should see the contrast when Ferre sleeps over."

Agreed, I'm not as dark as him, but he's Nigerian and I'm a beautiful little East and West hybrid," Grantaire says, his voice still husky with sleep.

"Indian and Irish, right?"

His eyes light up and he smiles. "Yep. And you're just French."

"Just French."

"Pale French."

"Pale French," Enjolras repeats again, grinning.

"Pale-as-fuck French," Grantaire continues.

This time Enjolras laughs, and Grantaire can't help but laugh with him. His laughter fades into a yawn, and he turns his body to face Enjolras.

"I like your bed," he mumbles, half shrugging under the covers. "I haven't slept that well since- Well. I don't know."

In the dim light, he can see that Grantaire's eyes aren't as dark as usual, his air is far more calm. It's a side to Grantaire that he's never seen – even when he's relaxed, there's always a hunch to his shoulders, as though something is hanging over him. In one way, Enjolras can empathise, and this new side makes his ease contagious.

The same ease means his ability to form a relevant reply is lost in his sleep-fogged brain, so he just smiles and waits for Grantaire to continue.

He doesn't. They lie there watching each other, blinking slowly, their breathing even. The rain has endured overnight, only lessened in strength, and its gentle sound almost lulls them back to sleep.

Grantaire's stomach groans, and Enjolras erupts into laughter.

"This always used to happen in exams. It would go quiet and my stomach would decide to vocalise," he says. There's a smile tugging at his lips.

At the word "vocalise", Enjolras' laughter increases.

"I take it you're hungry?" he manages to ask, breathing raspy.

"Starving."

"I'm not exactly a Michelin-star chef so the best I can offer you is cereal."

An odd look crosses his face as he thinks. "You bake sometimes, right?"

"Yeah?"

Without warning, Grantaire is prising himself out of bed. Enjolras sees him shiver at the sudden lack of warmth.

"Pyjama bottoms in the second drawer," he gestures in the general direction of the chest, "Throw me some too please."

Despite keeping his arm out of the covers to catch them, Grantaire throws them onto his head, and then he's out of the room.

It's silent while Enjolras drags on the trousers under the covers, until a bang comes from the kitchen followed by a quiet "shit". He sighs and rolls out of bed, pulling on socks and a jumper as he leaves the room.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Grantaire is shoving pans back into one of Enjolras' cupboards, a frying pan awkwardly held under his arm.

"Making pancakes." He finishes his attempt at arranging the cupboard and glances at Enjolras. "You _do_ like pancakes, right?"

"Chocolate pancakes?"

"And I always thought you were perfect."

"Regular pancakes are bland," argues Enjolras, his manner teasing.

Setting down the ingredients, Grantaire puts on a face and begins to gesture with his hands. "You come into my house, on the day my daughter is to be married-"

"Christ."

"Good, right?"

"Surprisingly so."

**\---**

Grantaire leaves after a couple of hours to work on a commission. Enjolras walks with him until they reach his apartment, and then continues onto the Musain. The journey makes him realise that Grantaire had gone out of his way to walk him home the previous night; a small smile touches his lips as he enters the café.

It immediately turns into a curious frown at the scene in front of him.

Musichetta is behind the bar inspecting her eyebrows in a pocket mirror, a Beyoncé song emanating from her phone which she occasionally sings along to. On the other side of the bar is Éponine, her hair pulled to one side as Feuilly inspects her ear. The piercing kit that sits on the bar is a giveaway.

"Are you qualified to do that?" Enjolras asks, pulling a stool closer to them.

"Bahorel taught me," Feuilly states, their tanned hands lightly hovering over the kit and selecting a needle.

He raises his eyebrows. "That wasn't an answer."

This time Feuilly smirks back and it elicits a laugh from the three of them. Éponine's laughter is cut short when the needle pierces her skin, but she hardly has time to react before Feuilly declares they're done.

They hold up another needle. " _Enjolras_?"

" _No_ ," he warns, then taps at his nose piercing. "I'm happy as I am."

"Remember when we got those?" they murmur.

"My parents wanted to kill me. Or you. I'd imagine either would've been satisfying."

"Sorry to interrupt your thrilling talk of the good ol' days," Éponine starts, looking up from her phone, "But have any of you seen Grantaire today?"

Instinct tells him to omit the whole truth, yet he's unsure why. "I saw him on the way over here, near his place, why?"

Grabbing for her bag, she sighs. "I just had a text from the school, Gavroche is skipping class again. Azelma's at work so he'll have to help me find him, I know a few places he might be."

Musichetta picks up her phone and starts to type. "Should I get everyone to help?"

"Just tell them to keep a look out, thanks. See ya," she mumbles. A chill blows through the door as she leaves. Through the window Enjolras sees her tie up her hair and shove it under a hat, and within an instant, she's disappeared.

About twenty minutes later, Bahorel joins them with Gavroche in tow, the defeated look on his face not stopping his cockiness.

He slams a hand on the bar. "Chetta, give me a milk. Chocolate."

Without hesitation, she reaches over and twists his ear, pulling him closer. Her voice is casual as she watches him squirm. "Your sister was worried about you."

"Ow, hey, no she wasn't, she never worries about me."

"She always worries about you, so I'll thank you to show her some respect."

She releases him and he apologises while rubbing at his ear, like a puppy whining when it's scolded.

Impressed at how she handled it, Enjolras exchanges a look with her, and she shrugs. She smiles when he raises his drink to her.

So where'd you find him?" Feuilly asks.

"He came into the shop to watch me work. I just finished up with a customer and figured I'd take my lunch break and bring him here for Éponine to take him back."

At the mention of going to school, Gavroche groans.

"Hey, I didn't become a tattooist by ditching class," Bahorel ruffles his hair. "If you're gonna copy me, do it right."

The door opens as he replies. "I doubt I need ratios to learn to tattoo."

"Oh yeah? What about when you need to scale down a tattoo but keep its proportions?" Grantaire questions, entering the room behind a seething Éponine.

She gestures curtly for Gavroche to come with her and he obeys, but before they can leave Musichetta stops them.

"Gavroche, don't you have something to say?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, keeping eye contact with Éponine.

Mumbling aside, the apology is sincere and she nods, then wraps an arm around him. "C'mon, you little punk."

A customer enters as they leave and Musichetta tends to them, while Feuilly wraps themself around Bahorel, leaving Enjolras alone with Grantaire. He's freshly showered, his dark hair tied back despite the cold outside. In the light of the café, Enjolras can see how well-rested he looks, and he wanders into a revelry of how much this look suits him. It's broken when Grantaire looks at him.

"So you lied to 'Ponine?" he intones over his drink. It has an edge of bitterness.

"Technically, no. I figured it wasn't exactly the best time to say we argued and you slept over."

Whatever reaction he was ready to make, he stops himself and his brow knits lightly. "Oh. True," he says, scratching at his chin.

"You can sleep over again if you want," Enjolras shrugs. It's a long shot considering his initial bitterness, but it had been nice having someone to talk to, and he'd figured there's no harm in offering.

"I think I'll take you up on that."

When he smiles, it's lopsided, and that itself makes Enjolras smile back.

**\---**

The clock has just struck two when they stumble into Enjolras' apartment. Grantaire had been draped over Enjolras as they'd walked, but had fallen through the doorway, leaving Enjolras to giggle as he locks the door.

He nudges him with his foot. "C'mon. Get up."

"I'll sleep here," Grantaire slurs, and waves an arm at him from the floor.

An attempt to drag him makes him stand up, only to collapse back onto the floor once in Enjolras' room. Enjolras considers him for a moment before stripping himself.

"I'm not undressing you," he utters to the heap of limbs on the floor.

All in all, it takes around ten minutes and fifty profanities for Grantaire to undress. The struggling ceases, and Enjolras assumes he's passed out where he is. It's when he's on the brink of unconsciousness that he finds out he assumed wrong.

"Enjolras?"

He makes an exasperated sound into his pillow. "What?"

" _Pedalo_." There's a smile in his voice.

"I- What?"

His head pops up at the side of the bed, his hair dishevelled yet miraculously still tied up.

" _Ped_ -a- _lo_ ," he repeats.

At the sight of him alone, Enjolras starts to laugh. Deliriously. Grantaire laughs with him, pulling himself into bed. They make eye contact and he repeats himself for a second time.

"Peda-"

"Oh my god, _stop_. I was on the verge of sleep."

He laughs louder.

"You're an asshole."

This time he grins. "A loveable asshole."

He shifts his position so he can rest his head against Enjolras' shoulder, and all Enjolras can do is lean his head against Grantaire's and hum in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think after three weeks I would've bothered to find the study name from the last chapter in my notes under my bed but alas, you'll have to wait til next time. Speaking of chapter three, I actually don't know what's going to happen other than the vague idea of "Halloween" so that should be fun, right?  
> Ten points if you spot the ambiguous film reference (the Godfather reference being the unambiguous one).


End file.
